The Immortal Burden
by Partita
Summary: “I was afraid of death and chose the path he offered me, but I have since walked it everyday with a burning regret,” he said as his eyes flashed black for a moment. “I'm not the person I was anymore and I could never be that person again, Granger.” [R&R!]
1. Escaping

**Disclaimer: **I, unfortunately, am not the owner or creator of Harry Potter and the wonderful Wizarding world. Everything you recognise in this story belongs to J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognise, however, belongs to me. So... that being said, on with the story!

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**The Immortal Burden  
**_by Partita_

**Chapter One  
_Escaping_**

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He was trapped now. In this never-ending path of life that he had so ignorantly and so cowardly decided to take. He should have ended it when he had the chance. Now he regretted it. 

Draco Malfoy glowered at the empty golden plate that sat before him on the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. He felt no inclination to eat and indulge himself as he usually would in the delectable and mouth-watering provisions that Hogwarts was known to offer. His mouth never watered now, nor did he ever hunger for food anymore.

But he reached for the kidney pie and poured himself a half-goblet full of pumpkin juice anyway. He couldn't let anyone know. Not even his closest friends. Picking up a piece of the pie with a fork, he went through the motions of eating, grimacing as he did so. Eating had never been so bland until now. No longer did the taste buds on his tongue savour the sweet and salty and bitter and spicy essence of food. He sighed dejectedly and picked up his goblet, peering into it and trying to remember exactly how pumpkin juice tasted. It had only been exactly fifty-three days and he had forgotten already.

"What's the matter, Draco?" a concerned feminine voice sounded from his left. He looked up to see a worried expression on Pansy Parkinson's face. He frowned at her and turned back to his food.

"Nothing, Pansy," he grumbled, as he lifted the goblet to his lips and took a sip.

The pug-faced girl sent him a skeptical look from the corner of her eyes, and pushed her blonde hair behind her shoulders. Draco merely continued eating, glaring at his plate.

"Something is bothering you, Draco Malfoy," she said, pointing her fork at him. "And I will find out."

He slammed his fork down onto his plate, causing a loud clatter and the girl beside him to start noticeably. A few Slytherins, including both Crabbe and Goyle, who sat on his right, turned their heads in his direction. He wished he could tell her. He wished he could tell _anyone_. But he was forbidden.

"For the last fucking time, Parkinson," he growled at her, his grey eyes flashing black for a split second, "_nothing_ is wrong with me. Keep your nose out of my business."

With that, he pushed his plate away from him and stood from the table. Sending her a final glare, he turned and walked towards the entrance of the Great Hall, not even caring about McGonagall's post-feast announcements. It was all the same depressing crap anyway... Dumbledore had been the greatest wizard, everyone will miss him, she was the Headmistress of Hogwarts now, etc. etc. He didn't care to listen at all. The blonde-haired girl looked after the irate wizard with a sour expression on her face.

Once in the vicinity and safety of the corridors, Draco sighed and made his way towards the portrait that led to the Heads dormitories. With a frown, he stopped, lifted his hand, and looked at the tone of the skin on the back of his hand. He still couldn't quite grasp the fact that he wasn't the person he had been for the past seventeen years anymore. He turned his hand around and moved his gaze downwards to the skin on his wrist, where his veins ran. Gulping as he imagined the veins under his skin pulsing slightly, he pulled his robe sleeve up to cover the area on his wrist and shook his head. No, he was never going to be the same again. But he was determined to fight it. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He hated who he had become and the needs that he had acquired.

It was especially important now, as Draco was instructed, to not let anybody know. He had an important position in the school and a shiny badge to constantly remind him that he had to go through with this with as much ease and normalcy as possible. It had only been fifty-three days, and he already couldn't stand it. Yet it was too late now; he couldn't do anything about it.

Fifty-three days ago, he had been completely normal. He had been able to taste, to eat regularly, to sleep, to feel alive... Fifty-three days ago, he would never have expected his life to suddenly turn itself around. One never truly knows how much one has until one loses it all, he decided. He was going to stay like this forever, never changing and never really tasting anything but—

He scowled at nothing in particular and, turning towards the cold stone wall on his right suddenly, punched the slab forcefully, gritting his teeth as he felt the skin over his knuckles break. He looked down at his hand again and noticed trickles of fresh red blood making their way down from his knuckles. Feeling the sudden urge to lick the open wound clean, he quickly wiped the back of his hand on his robes and stuffed his right hand into his pocket. Putting the thought of the blood on his hand out of his mind, he hastily made his way down the corridor towards his dormitory.

When he reached the portrait that led to the Heads common room, he realised that he had no idea what the password was. He had left before the feast was over—before he was supposed to meet with McGonagall to retrieve the password. Cursing to himself, he turned towards a jester, the only figure in the portrait, who wore a bright yellow and green motley and a red and green hat with three liliripes of which each had a small golden bell attached. He was attempting to juggle three red balls while balancing a water jug on his head. Draco rolled his eyes as he noticed this, and stuffed his hands further into his pockets.

"I don't know the password to the Heads common room right now, but I'm the Head Boy. Let me in," he said authoritatively.

The jester in the portrait stopped juggling and took the water jug off from his head. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head defiantly at the blond. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

Glaring at the jester, who had placed the water jug back onto his head and had resumed juggling, Draco reached into his robes and rummaged in his inside pocket for his Head Boy badge. He took it out and held it in front of the jester, sending him an impatient look.

"Here's my badge. Now would you let me in?"

The jester sent him an exasperated look, obviously frustrated at being interrupted in his act, and shook his head again. "Badge or no badge, I still can't let you in."

"Why not?" the blond asked heatedly. The jester sighed.

"Because," the jester said slowly, as if talking to a small child. Draco sensed this and fought the urge to reach for his wand and set the portrait into flames. "How would I know that you didn't swipe the badge off of the real Head Boy and are trying to impersonate him now?"

"_I'm_ the real Head Boy!" Draco exclaimed. He shook the badge in front of the jester's surprised face. "This is _my_ badge! How much more evidence do I need?"

"A password would be nice," the jester grumbled before sending the Slytherin a goaded look and picking up his red balls.

"Well, how would you know that I didn't get the password from the real Head Boy?" he muttered under his breath as he glared at the wall on his right. Fortunately, the jester hadn't heard this statement and had resumed juggling.

Sighing loudly, Draco turned away from the portrait and ran his hands through his hair, before realising suddenly that his right hand was wounded. He took his hand away from his hair quickly and looked down at his hand. A wave of relief washed over his countenance as he noticed the wound had healed completely and quickly. Not a trace of the blood and open skin was left on his knuckles.

"Something the matter?" the jester inquired from behind. Draco frowned and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"No," he said irritably, before walking away from the portrait that led to his only sanctuary for the time being.

He didn't know what time it was and, therefore, couldn't tell whether or not the feast in the Great Hall had ended. He let out a heavy breath through his nose and walked through the corridors with no particular destination in mind. Whatever, he decided, he would just have to wait for his co-Head to turn up. Stopping suddenly in his tracks, he realised that he had forgotten that the mudblood was Head Girl this year. Scowling once again, he wondered to himself why he deserved any of this. On top of his own personal problems, he now had to deal with sharing a common room and bathroom with Granger, that insufferable know-it-all. Not to mention the fact that he was forced to perform certain Head duties with her.

Where the hell was that stupid mudblood anyway? He glanced around the corridors, wishing nothing more than to be underneath the covers in his four-poster bed, escaping his problems. That was, if he could actually sleep. That was also another aspect of life that wasn't necessary for him anymore. There was no such thing as sleepiness or wakefulness in his life anymore. His daily functions had, when one came right down to it, turned inside out and that left him angry and regretful, and he despised it.

Walking idly through the corridors for some time, with only the sounds of his footsteps bouncing off the stone walls, he came across the passage that led to the Room of Requirement. He stopped, stared at the wall for a moment, and decided that the room was about the closest thing he could get to sanctuary. _'I need a room where I can go back to being the person I was fifty-three days ago,_' he thought dismally. Obviously, he knew that that wasn't going to happen. The Room of Requirement couldn't possibly reverse time and prevent any of his problems from happening. So he chose his words carefully, hoping that the room would be able to provide as much resolution for him as possible.

'_I need a room where I can sit and be alone for a few hours,'_ he thought to himself. Looking up at the wall, he shook his head. No, that wasn't right. _'I need a room where I can keep to myself for a few hours and just think.'_

Yes, that seemed satisfactory enough. Starting up on his walk again, he thought this line over and over again in his head, and went around the corridor three times. When at last he came upon the same wall, a dark mahogany door with a golden handle appeared, and the Slytherin marched forward and reached for it. He let out a sigh of relief upon entering the Room of Requirement, as he looked about his surroundings.

The room turned out to have a high ceiling and a single window on the east side. Dark green curtains hung from the top of the window and each was tied with a golden rope, which allowed the user to have the choice of looking out. Wooden floors covered the entire area of the room and a soft black and cream traditional Aubusson carpet with fringed edges covered a small area in the center of the room. This was obviously the area for pacing, Draco deduced.

There were also several comfortable-looking armchairs about the room, one in each corner, and two of them accompanied with footrests. The walls were painted white and only one landscape painting of a wheat field hung over the fireplace on the north side of the room. Not much to think about with a painting like that. The room was free of distractions, and for that, Draco was grateful.

Feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Draco stepped further into the room and plopped himself down onto a dark green sofa positioned directly in front of the fireplace in which a warm blazing fire was keeping the room cozy. He kicked off his shoes and propped his feet on one of the armrests, shifting himself until he was lying in a comfortable position on the sofa.

'_Better than nothing,'_ he decided, shutting his eyes. Folding his hands on top of his chest, he let out another sigh, and allowed his thoughts to wander.

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**  
Author's Note:** For those of you who are frustrated and don't like guessing, I'm sorry, but you won't know what's happened to Draco until possibly the third chapter. And for those of you who do know or might have an idea as to what's happened to him, I would appreciate it if you don't spoil it for the rest of the readers! Feedback and any comments are highly encouraged, as I feel more motivated when I know that people like or at least read my story. And last but not least, thanks for reading! 


	2. A Dismal Beginning of the Year

**The Immortal Burden  
**_by Partita_

**Chapter Two  
_A Dismal Beginning of the Year_**

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Hermione Granger smiled to herself in the Great Hall as she fingered the new golden badge that hung on the outer left side of her school robes. She had finally achieved her goal of acquiring the position of Head Girl of Hogwarts. Of course, every member of the student and staff bodies of the school knew that she, Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age, would become Head Girl this year. If she had not become Head Girl this year, one could say that the world had flipped upside down. She wasn't arrogant, but she knew herself that she deserved the position. 

Sitting at the Gryffindor table, she looked around at her two best friends who were currently discussing nothing else but Quidditch. Ron had his mouth full as usual and couldn't help the bits of food that intermittently sprayed out of his mouth as he talked. Harry, the usual gentleman, listened for most of the time, but offered his own viewpoints when he disagreed. He seemed to be less enthusiastic than usual. She watched him from the corner of her eyes; there was something else on his mind.

It had been a difficult end-of-the-year for him sixth year. She knew that things had completely done a one-eighty turn for Harry after Professor Dumbledore had died, as he was now truly on his own—if not more than he was before—on the path to defeating Lord Voldemort. Returning to Hogwarts had even been a difficult decision for him to make during the summer (it had taken much coaxing and consoling on Hermione's and the entire Weasley family's part to help him make the decision). If anything, he would still be safer at Hogwarts than anywhere else, because he had his friends and their support around him.

She looked around the table and glanced at Ron, Neville, Ginny, Dean, and Seamus. Yes, he really had a good amount of support at Hogwarts. And Luna from the Ravenclaw House also supported him all the way. Not to mention a few Hufflepuffs. The bushy-haired witch smiled as she saw Ginny get up from the other end of the table and make her way towards her. She squeezed herself in between Colin Creevey and Ron, who didn't seem to notice her as he was still in the midst of a fervent discussion about the Chudley Cannons' most recent regional victory.

"Congratulations again, Hermione, on becoming Head Girl," the redhead said, grinning. The brunette smiled at the younger girl.

"Thanks, Ginny. I appreciate it. I know it's all very nice and Merlin knows I've wanted this position ever since I first stepped foot into Hogwarts, but..." she screwed up her face into a frown, "I'm afraid my becoming Head Girl means that I would be spending more than enough time with Malfoy."

Ginny sighed and patted the older girl's hand reassuringly. "It won't be so bad, Hermione."

Hermione looked at the redhead across from her incredulously. She leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest, raising a brow. "Not so bad? Ginny, this is Malfoy we're talking about. This is the boy who's been calling me a 'mudblood' continuously for half a decade. This is the boy who's made it his daily mission to torment Harry, Ron, and me. Not to mention the fact that he looks his nose down on anyone not worthy enough of—"

"All right, all right," Ginny said, stopping the Head Girl in her tirade. "He's a horrible, biased, sneaky, arrogant prick... but he has become Head Boy this year—Merlin only knows why—and you'll have to try to make the best out of it," she smirked as an afterthought came to her. "Also, you could always hex him however you want if he steps out of line."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right, I've become Head Girl, and one of the first tasks on my Head duties list is to hex the ferret into oblivion. I'm sure Professor McGonagall would be proud."

"Hey," the redhead said suddenly as she knitted her brows together, "why _did_ McGonagall let Malfoy become Head Boy? Honestly, you'd think that after what he'd done, he'd be last on the list of people worthy of becoming Head Boy."

The brunette shrugged. She'd been wondering about that too. Why _had_ Malfoy become Head Boy this year? And what was more curious was the reason why he had even bothered to return to Hogwarts. After what he had done in the tower last year, plus all the secret conspiring to kill Dumbledore and helping Death Eaters enter the castle, he was still given the position of Head Boy. Even the lowliest student here deserved the Head Boy position much more so than he did! She scowled, as her eyes shifted in the direction of the blond across the hall. _'Bloody bastard didn't deserve the position at all,'_ she thought petulantly, as she watched him stare dismally at his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Obviously, someone or something had been able to persuade Professor McGonagall _very well _in order for her to act accordingly. Everybody knows that Professor McGonagall is the strictest and most unyielding professor here," the Head Girl replied, glancing wistfully at the Headmistress in question.

The redhead sitting across from her nodded in agreement, before turning her head towards the Slytherin side of the hall. She pursed her lips into a straight line as her gaze followed a certain blond Slytherin's movements.

"Wonder where _he's_ off to now..." she muttered darkly. Hermione turned her attention away from the Headmistress and shifted her gaze onto the person at which Ginny's line of vision was pointed.

"Shouldn't someone be keeping a close watch on him?" she whispered angrily, leaning in towards Ginny. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the blond hastily make his way towards the doors of the Great Hall. "If he's been allowed to return to Hogwarts _and_ to receive the Head Boy position, then surely there had to have been some kind of agreement or terms he had to follow?" the redhead furrowed her eyebrows in thought at this and nodded slowly as the bushy-haired girl continued. "Professor McGonagall would never have allowed him to get away with things so easily."

The redhead opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off immediately by the sudden clinking of silverware on glass from the front of the Great Hall. The two girls turned and looked up to see Professor McGonagall stand from her seat at the center of the long staff table. The entire Great Hall quieted down considerably and the majority of the students turned their attention towards the Headmistress.

"Thank you for your attention," she began. "I would like to begin by saying welcome back to those who have chosen to return and welcome to the new students," a few of the students sent each other looks. There were only five first years. "As many of you may know, the tragic event that occurred at the end of last term had affected the possibility of keeping Hogwarts open. But the decision to continue educating the students of Hogwarts has been made. Let us hope accordingly that this year will bring us as much stability and safety as possible.

"I would also like to announce and congratulate this year's Head Boy and Head Girl, Mr. Draco Malfoy and Miss Hermione Granger," she said effortlessly, as if she had rehearsed this line over and over again in private. Glancing around the hall, the Headmistress sought out her two top students.

Hermione stood from her place at the Gryffindor table and smiled gratefully at Professor McGonagall, as students and teachers applauded. Whispers and murmurs were soon heard from the groups of students, however, as they realised that the Head Boy hadn't stood up and, moreover, was nowhere to be seen. A few gasps and exclamations of "Draco Malfoy???" could also be heard from outraged students who were familiar with the Head Boy's background and activities, especially those of last year.

"I can't _believe_ Malfoy's the Head Boy this year..." Hermione heard a nearby Hufflepuff lament.

"Isn't he a Death Eater?" a fourth year Gryffindor asked incredulously.

The bushy-haired witch looked across the hall at the Slytherin table. It seemed as if only a few students from the Slytherin House had chosen to not return to Hogwarts, whereas the rest of the House tables were considerably lacking in students. The Patil twins, as well as Justin Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, Marietta Edgecombe, and several other students from the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor houses, she noticed, had not chosen to return.

It was, however, understandable. She knew that after the Death Eater attack in the school last year, many parents were bound to forbid their children from returning to Hogwarts. The muggle-born students, no doubt, were especially frightened and had lost what remaining faith they had in the security of the school. Though a muggle-born herself, Hermione's loyalty to the one place that had changed her life forever overruled her—she had to admit it—deep underlying fear of another attack. Yes, she was frightened of the future. But she had vowed to herself that she would stand by Harry and endure with him the obstacles that were going to stand in his way.

She glanced at the Boy Who Lived from the corner of her eyes as the whispers and buzz of the Great Hall gradually crescendoed. He looked absolutely livid and seemed as if he were trying desperately to restrain himself from getting up from the table and seeking Malfoy out. No doubt he'd have gone up to him and smashed his brains out.

"I still can't bloody believe this. I can't believe any of this at all," she heard Ron growl. "What the bloody hell was McGonagall thinking?"

"She better have a damn good reason for making Malfoy the Head Boy," Harry spat. Hermione hadn't seen him appear this angry ever since the summer before their fifth year.

The redhead did not have the chance to respond, however, as Professor McGonagall had called for order in the Great Hall once again. Sighing, Hermione sat down in her seat again and sent Ginny a weary glance. This year was supposed to be successful for her. Everything was supposed to be perfect for her. She was finally the Head Girl, and now she had to deal with the ferret. Hermione had a feeling all the importance and honour she had in being the Head Girl this year would soon be going down the drain. The younger girl sent her a sympathetic smile and turned back around as the Headmistress cleared her throat.

"I am aware of the shock which this news has brought you, but I stand by my firm beliefs in supporting my decisions," she stated. Several students sent each other the same disbelieving looks that all expressed the same thought, "McGonagall has finally gone mad." The buzz in the hall quieted down once more, however, when she continued. "The reasons for which the appointments of the co-Heads have been made will remain entirely confidential, and no one is to discuss the matter further."

She paused for a moment and signalled Filch to approach her from where he usually stood by the back doors. She leaned down from where she stood and said something in a low voice to him, before watching him nod in understanding and hastily make his way out of the Great Hall. She cleared her throat again and all of the students turned their attention back towards her.

"There are two new teachers on the staff this year. I would like to warmly introduce the school's new Potions teacher, Professor Ilona Varrius, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Marcus Everard," she said, gesturing to the new staff members on either side of her. Both stood and smiled gratefully at Professor McGonagall as the rest of the teachers and students applauded.

"We are grateful for each of their acceptances to teach here, as both had transferred from previous teaching positions in international private magical institutions. Professor Everard had previously taught at the Toulouse Private Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry for five years, serving as the school's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for four years, as well as the General Healing and Anatomy teacher for one year," she paused, allowing the information to sink in.

The majority of the female population of the student body, however, had been busily sending their new professor dreamy glances and giggling amongst themselves about what sounded like "his dreamy eyes" and "his gorgeous smile." The new professor seemed to be familiar with this reaction and had merely smiled politely at the students and continued listening to the Headmistress's introduction. Ron rolled his eyes as Lavender nudged his sister from behind Colin and whispered something of which the only words he caught were "his anatomy." The rest of the Headmistress's introduction for Professor Varrius was completely disregarded, however, for several students paid more attention to her appearance and eyed the new dark-haired woman warily.

"She looks a lot like Snape," Ron muttered suspiciously. Harry raised his brows and nodded in agreement as he looked at her closely.

And resemble Snape she did. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if the two were distant cousins of each other. She had long, though not greasy, dark hair that fell down to her waist, pale skin, heavy-lidded dark eyes, a long nose, and thin red lips that seemed to always stay in a straight line. She shuddered slightly; the woman—she had to admit—was a bit creepy and sinister-looking. According to Professor McGonagall, she had recently moved from Hungary, where she had taught the Potions and Tonic Remedies course at the Budapest Academy of Magic for seven years.

After giving a brief introduction and history for each teacher, the Headmistress moved on to general safety rules and regulations, repeating what most of the students were familiar with already. As the post-feast announcements came to a conclusion, Hermione wondered to herself how much things were going to be different this year. The number of students now enrolled in the school was positively dismal, Dumbledore was gone, and what was worse was that Malfoy—that bloody git—was her co-Head! She groaned to herself as she thought of the hell that she would have to put up with this year. Perhaps she could stay in the Gryffindor dormitories?

When at last the post-feast announcements concluded and Professor McGonagall had wished everyone a good night, Hermione stood up from the table and approached the High Table.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall greeted. "As you know already, co-Heads are given their own dormitories and common room. You will be sharing a common room with Mr. Malfoy and are expected to perform certain required Head duties with him," Hermione opened her mouth to protest or suggest her sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitories, but was forced to close it immediately as the Headmistress went on. "I do not wish to discuss this matter any more tonight. You may come to my office tomorrow as I also have a few things to discuss with you in private. The password to your common room is _potestas ab unitas_, and you will find a schedule and list of the Head duties you will be performing throughout the week posted in the common room."

"But Professor—"

"Tomorrow evening, Miss Granger. I would like you to come to my office after dinner and we will settle things there," she said with a tone of finality. "Have a good night, Miss Granger."

And with that, the Headmistress stepped down from where she stood and walked towards the back of the Great Hall with the rest of the staff members. The Head Girl sighed and hurried over to her friends who were waiting by the doors of the Great Hall.

"Did she mention anything about Malfoy?" Ron asked indignantly. Hermione shook her head sullenly.

"No. I couldn't get a word in edgewise," she said, sighing. "She did mention that she had a few things to discuss with me in private, though."

"What things?" Ron asked, furrowing his brows. The redheaded witch standing beside him rolled her eyes.

"How the bloody hell would Hermione know, Ron?" she said, to which the Head Girl chuckled. Ron muttered something along the lines of "moody sisters." Ginny ignored him and turned to Hermione with a serious look. "I know I said that you could hex Malfoy however you want, and I know that you have the ability to defend yourself, but please be careful around him, Hermione."

The bushy-haired witch smiled appreciatively at her younger friend and nodded. "I know, Ginny."

"We're serious about this, 'Mione," Harry said, frowning. "You know the things that bastard did last year. He's definitely capable of more than anyone else thinks... well, except Voldemort."

Hermione nodded and touched the raven-haired boy on the arm. "I know, Harry. I'm touched that you worry for me, but really, I can take care of myself."

"Good, but know that Harry and I won't hesitate to torment the git in our own ways," Ron interjected with a devious look.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn't stop the smile that slowly spread across her lips. She really was touched by her friends' concern, but she knew herself that she knew enough spells and hexes to take care of herself. This year, she had a feeling, was going to be full of work and stress for her. She didn't think all the defensive spells and hexes she'd learned so far would not be totally unnecessary. She sighed as she walked towards the moving staircases with her friends, silently listening to their conversation about the new teachers. Yes, this year was going to be completely different.

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**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please leave me any comments or feedback about the story so far. I love reading what people have to say about my work. And you'll soon find out what's going on with Draco! ;)


	3. The Awakening

**The Immortal Burden  
**_by Partita_

**Chapter Three  
_The Awakening_**

* * *

Draco heaved a sigh as he settled himself deeper into the green depths of the sofa. With one arm propped on the armrest beneath his head, he stared at the plain white ceiling of the Room of Requirement. He seemed to be doing that a lot nowadays—staring at nothing... feeling lifeless and unmotivated to do anything... _'And McGonagall actually made me Head Boy,'_ he thought, frowning at the ceiling. 

His days no longer held any—if not less—meaning for him. And with each day's start, he couldn't help looking at it as a curse—a burden. _'Really,'_ he'd always think to himself as he got up each morning from his bed, _'what is the point?'_ Time was no longer an important factor in his daily activities. As far as he knew, Draco had all the time in the world, and this fact had quickly erased what determination he had had in accomplishing his goals; in striving for what he had set his mind on.

What were his goals, anyway? He scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest. He supposed if none of this had happened to him, he would be aiming to become the person his father was. He would be under the Dark Lord's pressure and constant gaze, performing horrific jobs and doing his dirty work as his servant. He would be striving to become a Death Eater. With an inattentive gesture, the blond brushed his fingers across the white skin over his left arm. He was, admittedly, relieved that he hadn't become part of the Dark Lord's ranks yet, and this feeling of relief frustrated him. He wasn't supposed to be feeling relieved, but rather, even more determined to become one of _them_.

But was he even ready to become a Death Eater? Was he ready to fully lose control of his own life and face each day with an undying loyalty to the Dark Lord? He turned over on his side on the sofa and glared at the crackling fire. _'No. I'm not,'_ he thought to himself. He was just a fucking coward—a coward who couldn't even finish the task that he had been ordered to perform because... what, exactly???

Why hadn't he been able to kill him? The old man had been standing _right_ in front of him, in a worn and withered state already, and Draco still hadn't been able to do it. He gritted his teeth as his thoughts flashed back to that night. He had been weak and easy—Dumbledore had even known he was too much of a coward—and was _still_ weak and easy now. He scoffed at the similarity of the two events that had changed his life. If he hadn't been so damn weak and easy fifty-three days ago, he wouldn't be in the position he was in now.

As if on cue, a loud noise issued from the window behind him, causing him to break out of his thoughts. The blond lifted his head slowly and turned towards the window. A black disheveled-looking owl, holding a letter in its beak, was flapping its wings rapidly outside and tapping its beak sharply against the windowpane. Draco rolled his eyes and got up from the sofa to let the owl in. He opened the latch and the bird immediately flew in, dropped the letter from its beak and onto the ground, and flew back out into the cool September air.

"Bloody bird," Draco muttered, before leaning down to pick up the tattered envelope.

He frowned as he recognized the long and slanted cursive written across it. He raised a brow at it, as he studied the yellowed packet in his hand more closely. The envelope was so badly sealed it seemed as if it had been sealed, opened, and then sealed again several times. The edges were also rather frayed, and a burnt red circular mark with the word _INSPECTED_ within it took up the right corner of the envelope. He wondered why this letter had been treated so differently from the ones he had received previously. Deciding to shrug off the thought, he walked back to the sofa and plopped himself down onto its soft cushions.

He stared at the fire in the hearth before him for a moment, contemplating on throwing the letter in without reading it. He knew it was going to contain the same message anyway. His father had always believed that repetition, besides pain, could enforce an idea best. He sighed and decided against it. Tearing open the letter, he read:

_Draco,_

_I expect you are at that useless school now. I can't fathom what your mother had been thinking when she enrolled you in the place yet again. If I were not in this wretched place, I would have taken you out of that godforsaken school already. However, the fact that you are there this year only stresses even more the significance of the point that I will make to you again._

_Do not, under any circumstances, let your vampirism be known to anyone around you. You must abide by this, Draco. I refuse to see a Malfoy be treated like a lower individual. Our family prides itself in being one of the highest pureblooded families in the Wizarding world, and you must, for that reason, go through each day as if you were still human._

_Once the Dark Lord regains his power, we may decide on how to use your vampirism to its fullest. As of now, remain undercover and control yourself._

—_Lucius Malfoy_

Gritting his teeth, the blond stood up from where he sat and walked over to the fireplace, before ripping the letter into shreds and throwing the pieces into the crackling fire. So he was a lowly individual now. He chuckled dismally at the irony of the situation as he watched the remains of the letter shrivel up in the blazing fire. He had always been considered below-standard in his father's eyes. He was the imperfect son—a substandard disappointment. And now that he was considered an even lower being, he was ordered to pretend to be normal—to go back to being the huge letdown that he had been before.

"At least you're not in Azkaban," a voice in the back of his mind spoke.

'_No,'_ he thought, fighting his cowardice. _'I'd rather have completed my task and be in Azkaban now.'_

Fighting the urge to punch something again, Draco walked over to one of the armchairs in a corner of the room and sat down. Dropping his head into his hands, he stared blankly ahead and wished desperately to be rid of the life he had now... He wished for nothing more than to be able to go back fifty-three days in time and to prevent any of this from happening to him.

* * *

Draco had always been one for mysterious trinkets. Ever since he had been old enough for his father to decide to bring him along on his errands, he had always enjoyed viewing the various dark objects on display in the windows of the old, dilapidated shops of Knockturn Alley. Of course, there were cabinets and cupboards full of dark objects at home, but his father had long prohibited him from touching any since he was first handed his own _flammacalx_ necklace on his seventh birthday and dropped it, causing the precious gem to break into pieces. His father had been furious and had immediately set a locking charm on all the cabinets, cupboards, shelves, and anywhere else where the family's heirlooms and dark objects were kept. 

Anyway, how was he to know that the stupid necklace enabled the wearer to control fire? No one had ever explained the power of the necklace to him. And why would he want to control fire anyway? He'd much rather be able to turn invisible or be able to move at the speed of light. He scowled at the memory of his father's enraged expression and his mother's disappointed look. The disappointed expression on his mother's face had been the sole reason why that particular memory stayed with him all these years. He'd always hated upsetting or worrying his mother more than anything.

Walking towards the shop he frequented every summer, Draco drew the black cloak that hung on his shoulders closer around him. It was a warm and muggy July afternoon, but he couldn't risk being seen by anyone. Even his mother had no idea he was out; he had been stuck at the Manor for so long since he'd returned with Snape and had decided that he had had enough of being shut up inside.

Quickly pushing the door of the shop open, he entered Borgin and Burkes and was immediately calmed by the familiar moldy smell of the shop. He nodded to the man behind the counter whom he had known since he was a little boy, as the shop door closed behind him with a solid slam and the small bell above it chimed noisily.

"Mr. Malfoy," the man behind the shop counter greeted. The blond approached the counter, the familiar creaks of the floorboards soothing him. The man behind the counter returned to what he had been previously busying himself with.

"Mr. Borgin," he replied. He glanced down at a dark glutinous substance at which the grimy man in front him was peering with a magnifying glass. He raised a brow and pointed at the dark substance that swished around in its glass plate. "May I inquire as to what this is?"

The shop owner looked up and sent the blond a devious look, displaying a toothy grin that clearly had seen better days. "Curious, are you? You've always been a curious lad, ever since you were just this tall," he held up a sooty hand to the height of his abdomen.

Draco rolled his eyes, sighing audibly. Mr. Borgin let out a low chuckle and put down his magnifying glass, before sliding it towards the blond over the counter.

"It is supposed to be the rarest ingredient in the Belluamorph Elixir. A man came in this morning and offered to sell it to me for five thousand Galleons," he said, watching Draco gaze at the substance with knitted brows through the magnifying glass. "Of course, I had to examine it before accepting his offer. Loads of attempted replicas out there."

Before the blond had been able to ask what the rare ingredient was called, the door to the shop had swung open with a loud _bang_, causing him to almost drop the magnifying glass onto the dark substance. He turned around to see what had interrupted his scrutiny of the sample and noticed, with a guarded look, a tall, ghost-like middle-aged man with long black hair that fell down to his shoulders striding purposefully towards the front counter. When the man reached the counter, Draco noticed that he stood considerably shorter next to him, his five feet, ten inches compared to the man's towering six feet, five inches.

Despite his towering height, the man was considerably thin-looking. If Draco had to guess, he would say the man had been starving for weeks—if that was at all possible. Only the large black suede cloak that the stranger had on could give the illusion that he was a well-built man. He was also breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon, and seemed to have lost all the colour of his complexion. Every area of him that revealed skin was a ghostly white—even his lips seemed to have lost any tinge of pink. The strange man glanced sideways at the young Slytherin before turning his gaze onto the man behind the counter.

"Mr. Fournier," said the shop owner, glancing warily at the state of his customer. He picked up the glass plate that contained the mysterious dark substance and took the magnifying glass from Draco's hands, before storing them away in a cabinet below. Mr. Borgin looked back up, clearing his throat. "How can I help you today?"

The man named Fournier swallowed hard before responding in a rather low accented voice, "You know what I need."

Mr. Borgin seemed to have understood what his customer meant with those five words, for he immediately nodded and turned to make his way quickly into his storage room. The man stared after the shop owner's retreating back, as his entire posture relaxed slightly, an observation at which Draco, for reasons unknown to himself, relaxed as well. Suddenly, the stranger snapped his head around and stared at Draco with a gaze so intense and chilling that the blond's balance almost staggered. Clearing his throat, Draco stood up straighter and attempted to seem unperturbed.

For a moment, Draco felt the man's gaze linger on his neck, and gulped before pulling his own cloak tighter around him. The towering man beside him sneered and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the shop owner's return. He snapped his head around again and immediately tensed when he realised that Mr. Borgin was not holding what he needed, let alone anything. Mr. Borgin sighed and shook his head at the man.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fournier. I'm afraid we're out of stock. Perhaps you could try the apothecary down—"

But the man had merely grunted and, with a swish of his cloak, turned and left the shop. Mr. Borgin looked after his customer with an embittered expression on his face, sighing and muttering to himself about remembering to restock his items, as he took back out the dark substance at which he was previously examining. He sighed and glanced back up at Draco.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy. Would you like to examine—"

"Er... no," Draco interrupted, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He swallowed, before rubbing the side of his head. "Thank you, but I must leave."

With that, the blond turned from the counter and made his way out of the shop, wondering to himself what had strongly affected him so suddenly. The shop keeper looked after him with a befuddled expression, before returning to his examination. As Draco stepped back out into the warm July air, he felt another wave of nausea overcome him and had to rest his hand on a nearby alley wall to keep himself from toppling over.

'_Pull yourself together,'_ he thought angrily to himself, straightening from his half-bent position. _'Malfoys are not weak.'_

"Oh, they're not, are they?" a low voice spoke from behind. He snapped his head around to identify the speaker, only to cause another stomach-churning sensation to wash over him. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He inched closer to the wall and leaned his head against the cold slab, closing his eyes and his breathing slightly strained. Suddenly sensing a shadow hovering over him, he opened his eyes and saw, to his alarm, the same towering man from Borgin and Burkes standing in front of him.

Sneering, the man lowered his intense gaze onto the blond's neck, and then looked back into Draco's eyes. The blond glared at the man and tried to stand up straighter, but his legs wouldn't allow it. The towering figure let out a low chuckle and with a swift and effortless move, lifted Draco by the front of his robes to his height.

"You're weak now," he hissed, almost inaudibly. Draco lifted his hands and attempted to pry the man's fingers off of his cloak, but realised to his frustration that the man was strangely powerful. He grunted as he struggled against the man's powerful grip.

"Who are you?!" he demanded, still struggling. "What do you want from me?"

Fournier's eyes flashed black for a moment, frightening the blond that was struggling under the man's vice-like grip. Then, turning back into the blue shade which they had been previously coloured, the eyes roamed over the pale, smooth, exposed flesh over Draco's neck. Sneering, the man returned his gaze reluctantly to his victim's eyes and replied in a voice that chilled Draco straight to his bones, "I want to drink you dry."

The blond widened his eyes as whatever colour left drained from the complexion of his face. "You're—you're a—"

"Vampire," Fournier answered, nodding at the Slytherin's horrified expression.

Draco had only encountered a vampire once in his lifetime—two summers ago, when his father had had a vampire guest over for a meeting—and the experience had not been a good one. He wasn't ready to live it again. Still hovering a foot above the ground, the blond reached into the side pocket of his cloak discreetly, feeling for his wand. It was there in the pocket, sitting quietly and waiting for its proper task.

The vampire, unaware of Draco's actions, leered at his victim before opening his mouth, revealing two pointed fangs. He lowered his mouth towards the flesh before him, but Draco was too quick for him.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the nonhuman before him, shouting, "_Impedimenta!_"

Fournier was knocked backwards, away from Draco, and landed in a heap on the hard ground.

Scrambling to get back on his feet, Draco held his wand out, making sure to keep it directed at Fournier. The vampire, however, moved too quickly for him to react. In just a blink of an eye, Fournier had Draco pinned against the brick alley wall again. He squeezed the blond's wrist painfully until Draco's grip on his wand loosened, and the wand dropped onto the ground with a quiet _clack_.

"You cannot escape from me," Fournier growled, his eyes remaining black now. "Your human movements are too slow."

Dipping his head towards Draco's exposed neck again, the vampire opened his mouth and allowed his pointed fangs to puncture the smooth white skin. Letting out a sharp cry, Draco squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the vein in his neck pulse violently and the blood which ran through it rushing out of his body. Fournier was too strong for him, or Draco had immediately been drained of all his remaining strength, for he couldn't lift his arms or struggle out of the vampire's grip.

As the vampire continued to drain his blood rapidly, Draco thought of the pain and worry to which he was and would be subjecting his mother. He imagined her hurt and horrified expression as she saw her son's pale and lifeless body being carried through the doors of the Manor. Her sobs echoed in his ears as he pictured her weeping beside his body, all the while blaming herself for his death—for not keeping him inside where he was safe. He wished he had never left the house... he wished he had been quicker.

Draco was abruptly dropped onto the ground. His breath came in short, quick gasps. Blood was still pouring out of the wound in his neck as he lay still on the ground, too weak to move a muscle. His eyes were shut but he knew that Fournier was gazing down at him. Why had he suddenly stopped? Was Draco supposed to die this way, slowly bleeding to death? Or did he have enough of Draco's blood?

The figure above him crouched down as he wiped away the extra blood that lingered on his lips. He was still thirsty and hungered for the prey before him, but he wouldn't drain this one to death. No, this one didn't deserve to die—not yet. He was weak, but he had a heart. Under the boy's cold exterior lay a heart that knew how to love, but was forbidden to. He lifted his prey's head gently, causing the boy to shiver against the sudden cold contact.

Draco's face was completely white; his lips even possessed a bluish tinge, as he gasped for the warm air surrounding him. But even the weather conditions that day seemed to have drastically changed, as the surrounding temperature felt as if it had dropped by a considerable number of degrees. He shivered under the penetrating gaze of his attacker and wondered how much time he had left before everything stopped.

"Your body is dying," the vampire spoke softly. "I have drained you to the verge of death. I believe, however, that it would have been a pity if I had drained you completely... so I offer you two options."

Draco's breath still came in short, quick gasps, and he nodded ever so slightly.

"I am offering you the choice I never had. I can drain the rest of your blood completely and kill you. Or I can give you a new life," murmured Fournier. "A life of immortality—a life as a vampire. This is your decision to make. Do you fear death, Draco Malfoy? Or do you possess enough courage to become one of us?"

His eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eyes with as much strength as he could muster. He nodded slowly and breathed a barely audible response, "Life."

The vampire nodded and simpered. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit into the cold flesh. Thick, red blood oozed out of the small puncture, and he watched this with a dark, intense gaze. Fournier lifted his bleeding wrist and held it over the mouth of his victim, allowing the thick, trickling blood to drip into Draco's mouth, as the blond continued to gasp for his last breaths of air.

As the blood made contact with his tongue, Draco felt the need to gag and turn his head away from the source of the putrid and brackish taste, but he found himself too weak to move. He willed himself to swallow the dense liquid that continued to drip onto his lips and into his mouth. After several swallows of Fournier's blood, however, he began to feel a pull—an indescribable need for it. Sitting up slightly with his weight supported by his left elbow, he reached for Fournier's wrist and pulled it down closer towards him until he was practically devouring it, sucking in as much and as quickly as he could.

Fournier winced as he felt Draco's smooth, unpointed teeth graze the puncture in his wrist. Wrenching his fist away, he glared at the blond before him, slightly offended that he had drained more blood than Fournier would have allowed. The blond's eyes flashed black for a moment, creating the illusion of heavily dilated pupils, as he stared hungrily at the bleeding wrist that was now being cradled in Fournier's other hand.

"Enough," Fournier growled, watching and anticipating the transformation.

And to Fournier's wonder, the transformation took only a matter of seconds to start and end. He scowled, feeling slightly jealous and perturbed that his own transformation—his awakening—from a healthy wizard to a bloodthirsty vampire took minutes of excruciating pain. Perhaps it was the extreme purity of Draco's blood that quickened the speed of his awakening. Or perhaps it was his level of courage or cowardice (whichever one preferred) that was able to transform him so abnormally fast.

Whatever the reason for the rapidity of his awakening, Draco's body decayed and transformed itself as fast as Fournier had ever witnessed. Draco felt his heart rate as well as his breathing slow down, as the short, quick gasps for air became no longer necessary. It was an odd sensation—to know that one could function perfectly without breathing. He watched the colour in his already pallid complexion fade away until he was barely the colour of his mother's precious white porcelain.

His mother... What would she say to this? Would she be furious or grateful? Hadn't he rejected the choice of dying because of his mother? Hadn't he become what he was now on the way to becoming because he didn't want his mother to suffer? Draco told himself that that was the reason and that his mother would be grateful, but a small part of him still thought otherwise.

He winced as he felt a sharp pain course through the length of his body. It travelled from his chest and spread outward, reaching his spine, arms, legs, hands, feet, fingers, and finally toes, leaving a burning sensation in each of the parts of his body. But then it all stopped so suddenly. He felt reenergized, yet hungry—desirous and eager—for something to fully complete him. He looked up at his maker, who had a smug expression on his face.

And the only thing that was ever present and reminded him of his new self in his mind now was: blood.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Now you all know what's happened to Draco! A rather intense chapter to write up (and to read, I'm sure), but I managed to finish it. I'm quite proud of myself. Just the content itself consisted of 4,097 words. I've never written so much for one chapter before. I don't expect the next chapter to be quite as long, though. But please, leave me a review and tell me what you think. I apologise for taking so long to complete this chapter. As I told some of my reviewers, I had to take two days away from writing so I could read the last Harry Potter book. I still can't believe it's over (what am I going to do now?!), can you?


	4. The Atypical Malfoy Gaze

**The Immortal Burden  
**_by Partita_

**Chapter Four  
_The Atypical Malfoy Gaze_**

* * *

Hermione awoke on the morning of September 2nd, feeling energized and determined for her first day of classes. She was eager to commence her last year of Hogwarts with a fresh, positive start. Though the mission that Professor Dumbledore had left for Harry at the end of last year still loomed like a dark cloud in the back of her mind, she forced herself to disassociate her studies from it. Harry's hunt for the remaining Horcruxes was indeed very important to her, and she was wholly prepared and willing to help him through it, but her studies were an entirely separate thing, and they deserved time as well. 

She was Head Girl this year, after all, and if she ever failed in performing up to Head Girl standards, she didn't know what she would do to herself. _'Most likely commit suicide...'_ This year was going to be extremely demanding and hectic for her what with the N.E.W.T.s, Head duties, homework, and research for the Horcruxes to focus on. She knew that Harry would eventually need to get out of Hogwarts and find the remaining Horcruxes, and was perfectly ready to drop whatever she was doing at the moment and leave with him. What was more important, really, when one came right down to it? Helping Harry on his journey to defeating Lord Voldemort, of course.

Feeling satisfied with her plan, she got out of her four-poster bed and opened the burgundy curtains that hung over the tall window of her room. The sky promised another grim, gray day, but that didn't stop her from feeling positive about the beginning of her last year. Pulling a robe over her cotton blue pajamas, she walked out of her room towards the bathroom that she was unfortunate enough to share with the boy who least deserved the position of Head Boy.

She glanced sideways at the painting that separated his sleeping quarters from the common room, wondering where he had run off to during the Feast last night. Had he even returned to his room yesterday night? She knitted her brows together as she struggled to remember if she had heard the main portrait open. The common room was extremely quiet and she couldn't make out any noises through his painting. Perhaps he was still sleeping; Hermione had always been an early riser.

Deciding to shrug off the thought, she made her way into the Heads bathroom, and was pleasantly surprised to find it just as she had heard it described many times throughout the years. It was a spacious bathroom and had just enough space for one to feel comfortable. It had a high ceiling and a stained glass window that faced the door, leaving the room just bright enough in the day. There were two sinks set in a marble countertop on the right side of the room. A separate shower stall stood next to the sinks, which faced the toilet and the large, square bathtub that apparently contained several different functions. There were three different golden faucets on the bathtub, one presumably for hot and cold water and the second, middle one for bath bubbles. The function of the third one laid vague in her mind; she would have to test it out tonight.

Walking over to the marble countertop, she glanced at her reflection in her mirror. Though she didn't show it, she did wish, at times, that she was pretty, if not beautiful. If anything, Hermione Granger was just a plain-looking girl with an uncontrollable mass of bushy hair. She wished that Harry and Ron, or anyone for that matter, wouldn't have such surprised looks on their faces whenever she prettied herself up. They'd react to her as if they had only met her for the first time. She was still Hermione, the bossy bookworm, but she was also a girl, who had feelings and insecurity problems.

Sighing, she pulled her hair up and, after much grunting and cursing and two snapped hair bands, managed to tie her hair up into a decent ponytail. She supposed she could always use the Magic Hair Straightening Charm that Lavender told her about, but that had always left her hair rather greasy towards the end of the day. And she had a lifetime supply of hair bands. Which choice would one honestly prefer? Greasy hair or snapped hair bands? Snapped hair bands, of course. She turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on her face, allowing it to waken her senses.

* * *

Smiling to herself, Hermione reached down into her bag and took out a sheet of parchment and her favourite quill and inkpot. Arithmancy had always been her favourite class and she was pleased to have it as her first class of the day. However, she couldn't help but frown at the number of students in the class this year; the class had mostly consisted of Ravenclaws, and now that the majority of the school's student population had chosen to not return, the number of students taking Arithmancy this year was pitiful.

She looked about the room. She was the only remaining Gryffindor in the class, and only three other Ravenclaw students, including Mandy Brocklehurst, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner, had stayed. There were also three other Hufflepuff students and two—she presumed—Slytherin students in the class. It was safe to assume that few of the many Slytherin students who had returned to Hogwarts did not choose to take an optional course such as Arithmancy.

Though only nine students remained in the class, the room still proved to be quite noisy, as students continued to talk amongst themselves about the new situation at Hogwarts. The bushy-haired witch grinned secretly to herself as she overheard Michael Corner lament to Anthony Goldstein about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her left shoulder and turned around to find Mandy Brocklehurst smiling tentatively at her.

"Oh, hello Mandy," Hermione said, a bit surprised at the girl's sudden gesture. Truth be told, Hermione had never had the opportunity to have a conversation with the girl before; she was even less than an acquaintance to Hermione, but they had always had Arithmancy together since their third year. The Head Girl found it odd that they had never gotten to know each other before now. The brown-haired girl before her leaned forward on her desk, as if about to confess a dark secret.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on becoming Head Girl this year," she said, smiling.

Lifting her brows in surprise, Hermione smiled appreciatively at the Ravenclaw. "Thank you, Mandy."

Well, she definitely hadn't expected that. Mandy seemed pleasant enough; it really was a pity Hermione hadn't gotten to know her before.

"It really is unfortunate that you have to be co-Heads with Draco Malfoy, though," Mandy said with a sigh. She gazed at the Head Girl searchingly, her eyes fixed on Hermione's face. "What do you suppose had been the reason behind McGonagall's decision? I mean, he is Draco Malfoy. I heard he's become a—"

"Mandy," Hermione interrupted, slightly irritated with where their first conversation was heading, "I don't know. I haven't a clue as to why McGonagall made Malfoy the Head Boy. But I'm sure that, given her knowledge and good judgment, she had good reasons behind her decision."

The Ravenclaw girl frowned. She was obviously dissatisfied with Hermione's answer. The bushy-haired witch turned back around in her seat so that she was facing the front of the room. If Mandy Brocklehurst had only wanted to talk to her about Malfoy, then Hermione would have been better off talking to Lavender. At least she was used to Lavender's professional gossiping skills and knew exactly when to tune her out.

It seemed as if the whole school was abuzz with gossip about the appointment of the Head Boy. She knew that there were already rumours flying around the corridors about why Professor McGonagall had chosen him as the Head Boy, but for reasons she didn't know herself, Hermione couldn't care less anymore.

Yes, she had been curious when she'd first heard the news, but if the Headmistress refused to give an explanation, then she supposed there was no use in speculating. She also supposed that she had always had much faith in Professor McGonagall's credibility and judgment. She trusted her Head of House as much as she trusted... well, she didn't know what she trusted, but she knew the woman hadn't gone mad like most people were thinking.

"Well, I think she's gone mad," she heard Mandy mutter behind her. Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

She made to busy herself by straightening the parchment and quill on her desk, but stopped suddenly when she noticed that the room had gotten abruptly silent. She looked up and noticed, to her disappointment, the Head Boy walking into the classroom and Blaise Zabini not following far behind. The two made their way towards their usual seats in the back of the classroom, only to stop in their tracks when Michael Corner stood up abruptly from his desk and glared at Malfoy. Hermione felt the Head Boy stiffen as he stood next to her desk in the front of the room, and watched him warily as he clenched his fists tightly.

"Why are you still here, Malfoy?" Michael Corner asked heatedly.

The room was extremely quiet and every pair of eyes rested on the Head Boy. Everyone obviously wondered the same; only Michael had been brave—or foolish—enough to ask directly. Hermione shifted in her seat uncertainly, hoping a fight wouldn't result from this. Malfoy stiffened in his position again, and scowled as he stepped away from Hermione's desk. The blond returned the Ravenclaw's glare, his eyes darkening a bit.

"You better watch yourself there, Corner."

For a split second, Michael's courage seemed to waver, for his glare softened, as if he had just realised that the Slytherin might be considerably more powerful than him. He looked down at his friend, who looked as if Michael had just done something incredibly stupid. But he straightened his posture and glared at Malfoy with as much menace as he could.

"Why?" he shot back. "What are you going to do? Going to set your Death Eater friends on me, Malfoy?"

A Hufflepuff girl in the back let out an audible gasp, and a few other students stared at Michael incredulously. They couldn't believe he had taken the taunt-Malfoy-with-the-Death-Eater-talk-route. Hermione glanced at her co-Head warily. He seemed to be restraining himself from tackling the annoying Ravenclaw with as much control and strength as he could. She could see him digging his nails into the palm of his hands as he glowered at Michael threateningly.

"You don't know or understand half the bull that's coming out of that idiotic mouth of yours," Malfoy growled. He arched a brow at Michael. "And I was under the impression that Ravenclaws were smart."

Before the brown-haired boy had a chance to retaliate, however, Professor Vector had entered the room and Michael, as if he had just been deprived of presents on Christmas morning, muttered a curse under his breath and sat back down in his seat. Professor Vector called the class to order and the two Slytherins made their way to the back of the room, throwing a last glare at Michael before sitting down in their own seats.

Hermione sent a last weary glance at Malfoy, who shot her a glare as he looked up from his parchment. Sighing, the bushy-haired witch turned her attention towards Professor Vector, who had already begun charming onto the blackboard details of the year's curriculum as well as what was to be expected on their N.E.W.T. exam at the end of the year. Hermione diligently copied down the notes on the board as well as any additional comments and hints that Professor Vector made.

As class time progressed, Hermione found her thoughts wandering to the most important task that she had vowed to do this year. She glanced down at the notes that she had taken on the Arithmancy N.E.W.T. _Pay particular attention to the Agrippan Method_... _Will most likely be asked to write an essay on the efficiency of Arithmancy over pure Divination_... She frowned as a thought occurred to her. What if, by the time of the N.E.W.T.s, she wouldn't even be here? What if something horrible happened that no seventh year would be taking the N.E.W.T.s at all? She thought of the number of remaining Horcruxes that Harry had to destroy. He had no lead, and Hermione had no idea what any of the Horcruxes could be, let alone how long this mission would take.

She shifted in her seat, feeling someone's gaze boring into the back of her head. The brunette turned her head ever so slightly to find out the source of her current paranoia. She scowled... _Malfoy_... But then she noticed something different—no, odd—about his steady gaze. He wasn't glaring at her in the way that he so often did. There was, rather, a questioning and curious look in his eyes, as if he were studying a particularly interesting Dark artifact, or... well, whatever Malfoy was interested in.

Hermione shivered slightly in her seat and turned her head towards the front of the room. She wished he would stop looking at her like that. _'What the bloody hell is his problem?'_ she thought tetchily. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. He was smirking now, and still looking at her, though the curious gleam was erased from his eyes. He was obviously amused now, but by what, Hermione didn't know, and that infuriated her even more.

Much to her relief, Malfoy had stopped staring at the back of her head by the end of class. When she stood to collect her notes and bag, he brushed past her as he walked by with Blaise Zabini, and she noticed his posture stiffen just as it had done before class. She tossed all her suspicion aside and assumed that he was just pointedly acting disgusted with her presence... the usual better-than-thou crap that ceaselessly oozed out of him. Sighing, she bade her professor a good day, before walking out of the classroom door.

Only to find _him_ standing by the doorway.

She held her books closer to her chest and veered in another direction, but he blocked her only way of freedom with his arm almost instantaneously. She sighed irritably and glared at his solemn countenance. She noticed, however, that once she came up close within his presence, his face no longer held the usual cold, burning look of a boy who had hated her and her friends for the last six years. He was still staring at her as if he couldn't believe he was standing this close to her, a mere muggleborn, but there was something about him that was slightly off. He looked down at her large, brown eyes, and seemed to be struggling secretly with something.

Finally, he responded in a strained voice, "The password. I need the password to the Heads dormitory."

She blinked, feeling a bit caught off guard at his tone of voice. Was he in pain? She looked up at him curiously. There was a desperate and urgent look in his eyes, as if he were holding himself back from doing something... something that made her rather nervous, she noticed.

"Er... _potestas ab unitas_," she stammered, before thinking of telling him that it was his responsibility to know the Heads password and not hers to tell him. His intense gaze lingered over her eyes for a moment and moved slightly downward, but flashed upwards almost immediately again. He nodded at her and turned to walk quickly down the corridor, as if his life depended on it.

She looked after him with a peculiar look as she knitted her brows together in thought. What in Merlin's beard had that been about?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Much thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter and added this story to their Favourites/Alert list! You all have no idea how much I appreciate it. Knowing that there are people out there reading and actually enjoying my story makes me immensely pleased. I hope you all could find the time to leave me another review and tell me how I'm doing. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and will update chapter five soon!


	5. Constringo Constrixi

**The Immortal Burden  
**_by Partita_

**Chapter Five  
**_**Constringo Constrixi**_

* * *

Swallowing hard, Draco hastily made his way up the stone staircase two steps at a time. He closed his eyes and tried to push the image of Granger's exposed neck out of his mind. But the image remained defiantly within his mind—the smooth white skin, the surface of her neck bobbing slightly as she gulped... He gritted his teeth as he walked briskly through the fourth floor corridor. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about this; he was supposed to be resisting the temptation.

"_Remain undercover and control yourself..._" his father's words flashed repeatedly in his mind as he approached the portrait of the jester at the end of the corridor.

He had been fine last night in the Room of Requirement. He didn't know why his senses had woken so suddenly. He was supposed to have at least two days left before he'd have to suppress his urge again. And this fact bothered him. Were his urges naturally getting stronger? Or had it been Granger that triggered them? He scowled, hoping the reason was in fact the former. Draco closed his eyes as the image of the soft skin over her neck popped into his mind again. He felt a slight tugging sensation in his abdomen.

And her _smell_. Bloody hell, her scent had been intoxicating. A low groan escaped his lips as he tried not to think about it. How could Granger ever smell that good... that desirable? And why her? Why did she have to affect him so strongly? Just standing a mere two feet away from her had sent his senses into overdrive. And now he desperately needed... He needed satisfaction. He needed the fulfillment that only the one substance he had willed himself to stay away from could provide. He felt his mouth and lips go dry and quickened his pace.

"Back again, are we?" inquired the jester in the portrait when Draco had reached the entrance to the Heads common room. "I'll have you know that I still won't open 'less you—"

"_Potestas ab unitas_," Draco muttered moodily, interrupting the figure in the portrait mid-sentence. The jester let out a noticeable _humph_ and sent him a goaded look before swinging the portrait open for him. He stepped into the opening in the stone wall and hurried into the common room, ignoring the jester's comments about irresponsible Head Boys.

Spotting a lone oil painting of a dragon pasture that he assumed led to his room, Draco made his way purposefully towards it. A young, dishevelled looking dark-haired man wearing chestnut-coloured leather protective gear walked into view, as Draco neared the painting. The man seemed to have just performed some strenuous task for he was breathing heavily and looked rather flushed in the cheeks. The figure smiled cheerfully at Draco, who merely glanced at him irritably. He didn't know how long or how much he could take before he lost his control.

"You must be Draco Malfoy, the Head Boy," the man in the painting remarked happily. "If I may, I was immediately pleased to discover from Professor McGonagall that the Head Boy whose room I would be guarding was named—"

"Please," Draco gritted through his teeth, as he felt the deep growing urge in the depths of his abdomen become more intense, "I need to get into my room."

The dragon keeper in the painting looked, for a moment, slightly put out at Draco's disregard for his greeting, but nodded anyway. "Have you chosen a password?"

"_Constringo Constrixi_," Draco replied without a second thought. He had thought of the first thing that came to his mind, and decided to settle on it. It practically defined the person he was nowadays... why should he not use it as a password? The man in the painting nodded briskly and swung open the painting, before the Slytherin mounted the steps that led to his sleeping quarters.

Letting his bag drop to the carpeted floor of his room with a soft thud, Draco advanced towards the black trunk that sat before the end of his four-poster bed. He muttered an unlocking charm and the lock that was holding the lid of the trunk firmly shut clicked open. Holding the lid open with his left hand, he glanced among the contents in his trunk, brows furrowing as he felt another jolt of desire surge through him. He was so close...

"Damn," Draco muttered as he searched through his belongings. Where the bloody hell was it?

Suddenly, an image of soft, fair skin stretched across a feminine collarbone flitted across his mind. He could almost feel his teeth piercing that desirable skin. He could imagine the fresh, warm blood flowing smoothly across his teeth, smearing his colourless lips and tainting them red, leaving his tongue and trickling slowly down his throat. He swallowed, barely able to taste the salty goodness of what he so needed now, and closed his eyes.

'_Fight it, you coward,'_ he thought to himself.

Opening his eyes again, he shifted various articles of clothing, books, quills, and sheets of parchment aside, and scanned his eyes over the corners of the trunk. At last he spotted it. The dull light from the window had reflected off of the rounded glass edge of the object, causing it to glimmer amongst its neighbouring items. Draco carelessly pulled away a sweater that had been partially hiding it, and picked up the small glass vial. In the vial was a thick, colourless substance that clung onto the walls of its container as it swished slowly around.

He sighed as a wave of relief washed over him. Unstoppering the vial, he peered into the glass vial and frowned. There wasn't enough left for a second dose, but it would get him through a week at the most. He would have to find a way to leave the school and go to Knockturn Alley. Tipping his head back, Draco lifted the vial to his lips and drained the remaining contents in one swallow. He grimaced; it had a bitter taste, but he secretly cherished this sensation for this substance was one of the very few things he could actually taste.

As the clear liquid slowly spread throughout his system, Draco began to feel more at ease. He felt the hot, burning desire to attack and drink from someone gradually dull into nothing but a mere repressed and hidden feeling. It was as if the beast within him had gone into hibernation for at most a week. It was sleeping now, but it would wake later with a horrible and painful jolt, and would thrash about in its cave, not stopping until it was satiated.

He frowned at the prospect, already dreading the moment the urge would return. He had been suppressing his needs and behaviour for the past four weeks now, and couldn't imagine buying and taking dose after dose after dose for the rest of his life. He remembered Fournier warning him about the potion. If used too much for too long, the older vampire had told him, his natural urges would disappear completely. Draco's spirits had lifted at that—he had thought that perhaps if he continued to take the potion for a very long time, he would never have to act like a vampire again.

"_But your body would slowly rot and dry out," _Fournier had added._ "A vampire must live on blood, and only blood. Without it, his insides would desiccate, and he could not exist."_

Well, perhaps Draco did not want to exist. Perhaps he possessed enough courage to face death now. He remembered Fournier had compared becoming a vampire to courage. He scowled and shut the lid of his trunk with a loud thump. He hadn't been courageous when he had chosen his new life. He had been a coward, shrinking away from death and choosing only the next best thing—immortality... and a messy life of immortality at that.

He felt disgusted with himself, disgusted with the creature that lived within him now. Draco remembered always feeling unsettled at the sight of blood, yet now he craved it. So what was he doing now? Who was he if he hated himself so much that he denied his being all the things that could truly satisfy him? Was he being a coward, recoiling from his own self, a vampire? Or was he being courageous, withstanding and rejecting all the things that represented his cowardice?

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands, as he crouched before his trunk. Whatever he was doing now, it was not easy, and he hated every moment of it. He stood up, suddenly feeling angry at Fournier. The anger quickly boiled into rage, as Draco's hatred for his maker grew stronger. It had been _his_ fault—Fournier's fault that Draco was like this now. If he had never been attacked and bitten, he would never have had to become the creature he was now. He would never have had to make the decision between dying and living for eternity.

Picking up his schoolbag and slinging it over his shoulder, he strode out of his room, annoyed. Stopping in his tracks, he took out his timetable and ignored the dragon keeper's concerned questions and remarks. He scowled as he scanned his eyes over the parchment—Double Potions... perfect.

* * *

Draco walked into the Potions classroom fifteen minutes late. The room had been painfully quiet and, as expected, every student turned his pair of eyes onto him, slightly grateful for the temporary break in tension. Professor Varrius snapped her head around and raised a thin, dark brow. Draco stood where he was, unsure whether or not if he should sit down just yet. The dark-haired woman regarded him coolly, a slight disdainful expression in her eyes.

"Do you belong in this class?" she asked with an edge in her tone. Her voice was heavily-accented.

"Yes," Draco replied. He glanced around the room. The number of students in Double Potions was just as dismal as that of Arithmancy. Potter and his bloody sidekicks were still here unfortunately. Thomas and Finnigan were also here, the likely Gryffindors. He felt Granger's curious stare on him and grimaced, shifting on his feet. _'Control yourself! She's nowhere near you!'_ he scolded himself, as he turned away and forced himself to look in any direction besides hers.

"Well then, Mister...?" Professor Varrius' voice sounded from his left, bringing him back out of his thoughts. He looked at her.

"Malfoy."

She nodded and glanced at him critically. "Mr. Malfoy, why are you so late to my class?"

"Head duties," he lied.

The new professor glanced at him skeptically and shifted her gaze onto the bushy-haired witch, who was staring suspiciously at Draco. He mentally rolled his eyes. "So late" would have been half an hour. The class was two bloody hours long; fifteen minutes was nothing. His steady gaze faltered, however, as he realised that Professor Varrius was staring at him intently. Was she...? No, she couldn't be. She was just exactly like Snape: stern, cold, and intimidating.

The dark-haired professor pursed her lips and nodded reluctantly. "Take a seat, and do not be late to my class again."

Draco nodded and strode to the back of the room, where Pansy was giving him a questioning look. He pointedly moved around her to sit in the empty seat beside Blaise, and scowled as he noticed her pout in that immature way of hers. Blaise quirked a brow in Draco's direction, but decided to shrug off any thought of his friend's irritable demeanor when he was ignored and resolved to going back to his note-taking. Professor Varrius continued her lecture on the year's curriculum, pacing back and forth in the front of the room, while tapping her long, crooked wand against her palm.

Draco sighed and decided to take out his quill and parchment. It was better to keep himself busy than to just sit and stare around blankly. Dipping his quill in his inkpot, he ignored the persistent glances that Pansy was throwing in his direction and scribbled down the notes that Professor Varrius had charmed onto the chalkboard. He glanced up from his parchment and observed his new Potions teacher. Truth be told, he had never had many good relationships with his teachers before, but Potions had always been his favourite class for the reason that he had always appreciated his teachers—Snape especially; Slughorn only favoured Potter.

But who the bloody hell was this Varrius woman? Draco began to think that Potions wouldn't be his favourite class anymore. He stared at her fixedly and unblinkingly. Something was off about her... Perhaps he could read into her mind for a bit? Gazing at her head as she moved about the front of the room, Draco forced his mind to close off his surroundings, the scratching of Blaise's quill on parchment, and Professor Varrius' sharp, stern tone of voice as she talked...

He focused on her thoughts and only her thoughts, as if he were directing a spotlight on a performer on stage. _'Absent surroundings... Black out your surroundings...'_ he thought to himself, as he continued to stare intently at his professor. The longer he focused on her mind, however, the more frustrated Draco became. He was inexperienced at reading minds, he knew that, but he had always managed to successfully delve into another's mind before (other than Ludovic's, of course). So what was wrong with him now? Why couldn't he read her mind? Fournier had told him that normal wizard Occlumency could never work against the strength of his vampire powers, so it wouldn't make a difference if Professor Varrius knew Occlumency.

His stare darkened as a thought occurred to him. He stared at her as she moved ethereally about the room. Then that only meant...

"Hey," Blaise whispered from his right. He scowled and turned towards the black-haired boy. Blaise slid a folded parchment across Draco's desk and nodded pointedly in Pansy's direction. Draco sighed audibly and rolled his eyes, as he grabbed the note and unfolded it lazily. On the piece of parchment was Pansy's curly handwriting, which read:

_What the bloody hell's the matter with you? And where did you go last night??_

Draco scowled and crumpled the parchment in a fist before throwing it aside onto the ground. Blaise smirked at this and turned to shrug at Pansy, who looked at the blond with a hurt expression on her face and began to furiously compose another note.

After several failed attempts at passing notes to Draco, Pansy finally gave up and slouched in her seat, pouting childishly and glaring towards the front of the room. _'Bloody wench...'_ Draco thought irritably. The rest of the hour passed by rather tediously and annoyingly for Draco, and it wasn't until Professor Varrius had charmed an assignment onto the chalkboard that Draco perked up. He sat up in his seat as he stared disbelievingly at the front of the room.

The _Constringo Constrixi Elixir_??? This couldn't just be a coincidence. And how was this even possible? He stared at the list of ingredients and procedure on the board, as his eyes scanned the lines until they hit the ingredient he was looking for.

"The assignment and instructions are on the board. You will have one hour to complete this assignment. I expect a sample from each of you at the end of class," Professor Varrius' voice rang throughout the classroom. Draco glanced at her as she moved behind her desk and opened the storage cupboard. He stood up from his seat and raised his hand. Professor Varrius pursed her lips as she turned around and shifted her gaze onto him. She arched a brow.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

A few heads, including Granger's, turned towards the back of the room. He glanced at the board, ignoring his onlooking classmates, and then at Professor Varrius. "It was my knowledge that the _belluavenenum _is an uncommon ingredient. It can almost never be found throughout the world. How is it possible that there is enough of the substance for an entire Potions class to concoct a CC elixir?"

Professor Varrius' brow rose higher into her hair. She glanced at him critically. "You seem to possess a great knowledge of this potion, Mr. Malfoy."

"I have a tutor," he replied coolly. And it wasn't completely a lie, either. He did have a tutor, though the number of lessons he'd been having every summer since his first year had dwindled considerably. But he wasn't about to tell her that he'd been taking the _Constringo Constrixi Elixir_ for the past month and a half.

Professor Varrius' gaze darkened as she looked at him depreciatively. "I see... Well, Mr. Malfoy, I don't believe how I run my class is any business of yours. I assure you, however, that the ingredients I provide my students are wholly acceptable by the school's code of regulations."

"I understand," Draco stated impatiently, "but I don't see how it is acceptable of you to claim that the ingredient we are using is in fact the _belluavenenum_, when it is clearly impossible for one to obtain an adequate amount of such an ingredient for an entire Potions class."

At this point, the entire class was silent, save for the bubbling noises emitting from a few of the students' already boiling cauldrons. Pansy gaped at Draco in admiration, while the rest of the class glanced at the scene with both distaste and disbelief. Appalled, Professor Varrius stared at Draco as if he had just slapped her. She sniffed in disapproval and moved behind her desk, before sliding open her desk drawer and taking out a small piece of parchment. Frowning, she scribbled down a few words on the piece of parchment, before muttering a Concealing Charm on it and handing it to the blond.

"Bring yourself to Professor McGonagall's office, and give that note to her," she said in a strangely calm tone. She shifted her gaze onto the bushy-haired witch that sat quietly before her, as the corners of her thin lips twitched. "And I want you to accompany him, Miss Granger."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Draco picked up his bag and crossed the length of the room towards the door without a second glance at the dark-haired woman or at his co-Head. He heard Granger sigh, as she quickly packed up her materials and rushed after him.

Once outside the classroom door, Draco quickened his pace, determined to not let Granger catch up to him. _'Evil bitch...'_ Draco thought menacingly, as the distant sounds of Granger's shoes against the cold stone floor of the corridor echoed around him. There was definitely something peculiar about that Varrius woman. She truly was an evil woman if she'd made Granger accompany him to McGonagall's office. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, before breaking into a small jog, as Granger's strong scent overcame him once again.

"Malfoy!" he heard Granger call from several meters behind him. "Slow down!"

He let out a frustrated sigh and slowed his pace down to a walk. He turned his head away from as her pungent scent wafted towards him when she caught up to him. Why wasn't the elixir working for him? Hadn't he taken enough to last him at most a week???

"What is... the matter... with you?" she asked in between short breaths.

Draco ignored her and willed himself to make his way to McGonagall's office without caving in to her smell. _'Bloody hell!'_ Draco cursed inwardly, as she strolled silently beside him; the scent was even stronger now. He dug his nails deeply into his palms, as he resisted his growing urge. Suddenly, the image of Granger's smooth collarbone flitted across his mind again, and it was all Draco could do without having to slam her against the stone wall and devouring her right then and there.

"Are you all right?" he heard her ask over the loud pumping in his ears. _'No, I'm bloody not all right!'_ Draco screamed in his head. He grunted in response and quickened his pace again as he felt the familiar tugging sensation in his lower abdomen. Much to his frustration, however, Granger was too quick for him this time, and had stopped him in his tracks with a sudden grasp of his wrist.

He whipped his face around at her and glared at her threateningly, though he didn't make a move to wrench his arm away from her. They were standing in front of the stone gargoyle entrance to the former office of Dumbledore, and the burning torchlight that hung on the wall didn't soothe Draco's nerves any further, for the firelight dancing about Granger's face made her look all the more succulent and desirable. He glared at her, aware of the sudden change in colour his eyes took. She widened her eyes at this, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

"Are you—what's happened to you?" she asked in a barely audible tone.

And it was then that Draco's control over himself broke as he allowed himself to admit defeat to Granger's effects. He wrenched his arm away from her grip, before slamming her back against the cold stone wall and pushing himself against her. Emitting a sharp gasp, she looked at him in alarm, and attempted to struggle free from his powerful grip on her arms. He stared down at her plain, brown eyes hungrily, awaiting and imagining the moment his teeth would make contact with her soft skin.

He dipped his head towards her exposed neck, relishing in her pungent, intoxicating scent, as he dragged his lips up and down over the smooth skin at the base of her neck. She let out another gasp and ceased her squirming, probably realising that he was too powerful for her. Running a finger lightly over the skin on her wrist, he pushed himself against her and parted his mouth over her neck. He was so close... And she was so inviting... She wasn't even stopping him...

He opened his mouth wider, allowing the tips of his teeth to make contact with her skin. He was so close and so ready to taste her, when suddenly, she stiffened in his grip. He glanced up at her with his eyes still darkened, barely able to resist screaming in frustration. She was staring at something behind him and the colour in her cheeks became an intense pink. Draco cursed inwardly and reluctantly lifted his head away from her neck and turned around to see what had so rudely interrupted his pursuit.

'_Fuck.'_

"Miss Granger," McGonagall's stern voice echoed throughout the empty corridor. Her sharp tone seemed to break all the heat and tension that had been flowing throughout the corridor. "Mr. Malfoy. Follow me into my office."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay! But thanks to persistent demand from a very close friend, I managed to write and complete the second half of this chapter this week. I hope you all enjoyed it. I also finally added in some more Draco-and-Hermione-action. ;) Please leave me some reviews, and I'll try to update the next chapter soon!


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